


Recurrence

by Mansaeboysbe



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: F/M, Minor Angst, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mansaeboysbe/pseuds/Mansaeboysbe
Summary: "It’s just me,” he said softly. His voice was low and calm, and it would been soothing if she wasn’t so freaked out by his sudden appearance.





	Recurrence

**Author's Note:**

> -Admin Mari

The world outside the open window was silent. There hadn’t been a breeze all day so this particular Autumn day had felt warmer, but only just. Maybe it was the weather that caused the calm atmosphere. Or it was possible that it was just one of those days.

Either way, (Y/n) was enjoying the evening with a mug of tea and the television playing in the background. She sat on her couch, curled up under a fuzzy blanket, simply watching the leaves fall off the branches of the trees in the forest just beyond her backyard.

If she were younger, she might have run outside and piled all the leaves up just to scatter them again as she jumped into the heap.

But today she didn’t find any kind of childish antics amusing and preferred her quiet sunset. There would only be a few more minutes of sunlight since the sun was going down earlier these days. She spent the rest of that time alternating between taking sips of her drink and smoothing out the creases of the blanket to occupy her hands.

Once the night began to settle in, (Y/n) placed her mug on the coffee table and stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders to keep it in place. Her feet hit the cool hardwood floor and she hissed.

She booked it to the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry. She had her hands full of snacks when a clatter came from the living room, followed by a shattering sound. The noise caused her to startle and drop the bags in her hands. Immediately her heart skipped a beat and she took a step back, trying to peer into the room.

It was empty. However, her mug lay broken on the floor.

The wind seemed to have kicked up, seeing as the curtains on the open window were billowing out into the room. The temperature appeared to have dropped and she wrapped her blanket around her tightly.

She took another step and her breath caught in her throat as the ground creaked beneath her feet. Her whole body froze and she waited for any sign of movement. When there was none, she took another step, being extra cautious.

Everything felt tense as she approached the pieces strewn across the floor, the rest of her tea had crawled outward from its original spot of destruction. A portion of it had been smeared as if the thing that had knocked it off had also stepped in it.

(Y/n) slowly looked up in the direction of the trail. It was pointed toward her hallway, where she had, unfortunately, left the lights off.

All of her horror movie knowledge was screaming for her to not go that way, to just leave.

She didn’t even have the chance to investigate before a hand touched her shoulder. She screamed, dropping the blanket, turning on her heel, and instantly her mouth was covered by the palm of a hand. Before she even looked at the person she could feel his nails pressing indents into her cheeks. Her shriek was significantly muffled and fear flooded her mind at the realization that she was alone with whoever this was.

“(Y/n)! Calm down, it’s me!”

Her breaths were ragged and her adrenaline pumped brain tried to put together the pieces of this man’s face to try and discern is she even knew him because he certainly knew her.

His dark hair was matted with sweat against his forehead and his large, dark eyes were watching her every movement.

“It’s just me,” he said softly. His voice was low and calm, and it would been soothing if she wasn’t so freaked out by his sudden appearance.

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, him watching her quietly and her sharp breaths creating the only sound between them. Then slowly she reached up and curled her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand away from her face. His nails had to be ripped from her skin and she could feel blood budding at the wounds.

However, she couldn’t even feel the pain as she stared at his face in disbelief. Her hand still held his wrist and she faltered, letting go and reaching up to touch his face.

There was no hint of emotion anywhere in his expression and at the same time, she couldn’t seem to grasp the situation.

“Sicheng?”

He opened his mouth to answer but a noise from outside the house interrupted them.

“They’re coming.”

A million questions were racing through her mind but the most prominent one was “who the hell is this?”

He pulled her to the closet in her bedroom, his footsteps sure, as if he had been there a million times and it was freaking her out more than the initial scare.

Because this wasn’t the Sicheng she knew. That Sicheng would have smiled the second he saw her, his touch would have been gentle, he wouldn’t have tried to essentially claw her face.

There was a pause as they sat together side by side and she reached out to touch him again, for reassurance, for comfort, for something. But she was startled yet again by the feeling of thick liquid coating her fingers.

In the little light they had, she finally noticed the gaping wound in his shoulder, spanning from his left collarbone to the right side of his ribcage, showing through the torn up shirt that clung to his shredded skin.

“Oh my god.” She covered her mouth in horror and tried to move away from him but he gripped onto her bicep, not letting go.

“(Y/n), it’s not safe.”

“Who the hell are you,” she whispered. It was a demand rather than a question.

“I’m Sicheng. You even said so earlier.”

“You might look like him but you are not Sicheng.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he looked past her, out into the room. Everything was quiet but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something out there.

When she went to move again, she felt his nails dig into her skin again and tears welled in her eyes at the sudden burst of pain. She couldn’t take it anymore.

This was not him. This was not the man she had loved– still loves. That guy had been dead for two years and whoever this sick, twisted person was, he was not the same person as the sweetheart who had died in a car crash two Decembers ago.

No matter how she thrashed against his hold he wouldn’t let her go, continuing to voice his concern that whatever he was running from was still out there.

A bang from the roof caused her to still and they both looked up simultaneously. She whimpered and he sent her an infuriated glare as if to say “I told you and you didn’t listen to me.”

“They know I’m in here,” he murmured, glancing at the window across from their position.

“Why did you come here then?” He didn’t answer and for the first time, a look of confusion crossed his face.

“I…don't know.” He shook his head before letting go and getting up slowly. He held his hand out to tell her to stay and then he moved to the window, drawing the curtains closed as quietly as he could.

He crouched down as he came back. Again his wound was brought to her attention. She wanted to ask him about it but they were distracted by another noise on the roof.

A gunshot rang out and Sicheng collapsed onto the floor.

(Y/n) covered her mouth to hold in the scream that was crawling up her throat and her eyes were wide as she backed up until she hit the wall. She looked up to the window and watched the curtains move from the wind pushing through the hole the bullet had made. They shifted just enough so that she could see the cold eyes of a man looking back at her.

She scrambled up, running out of the room and when she made it to the living room, everything turned black.

Sitting up, she stretched her back as she awoke. Her breaths were a little uneven from her high strung emotions but she figured nightmares had that effect on her as a kid, so there would be no difference now.

She peeled the blanket off her legs, tossing it to the other side of the couch as she got up to close the window, more than a little unnerved. There was no noise from outside, no broken mug. Everything was as she had left it.

For a moment she looked around the living room and then just as a precaution she went to the bedroom. Her window was closed and there was no sign of a bullet hole.

Taking a seat on the bed, she let out a shuddered breath. She hated how Sicheng had been and honestly she couldn’t comprehend why her brain had chosen to put him through that rather than relive one of their dates, or something nice like that, where he was alive, where he was happy.

If the thought of sleep hadn’t been so unsettling, she would have simply curled up on the bed and spent the rest of the night there.

Instead, she pushed herself up and shuffled to her kitchen. She closed her eyes, trying, and failing, to stifle a yawn, and when she opened them she froze.

Sicheng was seated at her kitchen table, one hand curled around a mug and the other resting on the table. He was in a different shirt and she could see the bandages that were almost hidden underneath it. Her fingers twitched slightly and slowly she reached up to feel her cheek and the scars that had formed there.

He looked up at her, devoid of emotion.

“(Y/n), you’re up,” he motioned for her to sit, “We need to talk.”


End file.
